


To me, you are perfect

by deducethegay



Category: Love Actually (2003), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deducethegay/pseuds/deducethegay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first ever fic (please be kind!) Johnlock, obviously. I really love this story in Love Actually, it just fitted with Johnlock. No smut, just fluffy and kind of sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To me, you are perfect

A deadly silence had fallen over 221B Baker Street. For the first time in months, there was no client tapping at the door. No Detective inspectors calling round with intriguing murders. Nothing. There was never any murders near Christmas. Everything was quiet. Calm. Peaceful.

"Isn't it hateful" muttered Sherlock Holmes, sprawled out on his sofa, long limbs draping over the edge. He was as poised as ever, his hands steepled under his chin, perfectly aligned with his sharp cheekbones and peaked lips.

 _Would this tedious day ever end?_ He thought to himself. It was times like this that his gifted mind was more of a curse. It rebelled against stagnation, he needed stimulation, anything to stop his mind derailing itself from the tracks of sanity. With his arms decorated with several nicotine patches, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander. He drifted from unsolved cases, to experiments, to listing types of tobacco ash.

_Hint menthol...Hi Val...Jester...J...John...John's eyes, John's smile, Jo-_

Sherlock tensed and snapped his eyes open as he caught himself. No matter what he did, however many cases he submerged himself in, his mind always retreated back to John Watson. He had tried, day and night to delete John from his mind palace. He couldn't. Perhaps he wasn't even in Sherlock's mind palace. Maybe John's name was etched somewhere else, some, deeper part of Sherlock where sentiment wasn't forbidden. John and his bride danced across Sherlock's memories, the music building up and up, until John stopped, pulled a gun from his suit, and shot Sherlock in the chest. Bang. Sherlock sat bolt upright as he felt his heart blown to smithereens.

" _Human error._ " He spat viciously as his head collapsed into his hands.

As if on cue, someone tapped on the door. "Finally." Sherlock eagerly leapt up to greet a client, tugging down the sleeves of his white shirt to cover the patches. As he opened the door, his heart panged when he realized it wasn't a client.

"Hello stranger." John said, beaming up at Sherlock. Sherlock just stared, lost for words.

"Well can I come in?" John asked, carefully eyeing up Sherlock who looked as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Yes well..." Sherlock cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. "I'm a bit busy at the moment actually..." He trailed off as John rolled his eyes and pushed past him into the flat.

"I was just passing, and I thought I might check out that video you made of the wedding? I was supposed to be in charge of taking photos, but I lost the footage. Mary'll kill me if I tell her." John joked as he glanced around the flat.

"Like I said to Mary earlier, I don't know where it is... probably didn't even record properly." Sherlock mumbled as John glared at him, clenching his fist slightly.

"Look Sherlock. I know lately, you've grown attached to Mary and-"

"John, I-"

"No don't argue with me. And I know you're worried I'm going to take her away from you. But, Sherlock, you know me. I'm nice. It would really mean a lot to mean if we could still be friends."

Sherlock sighed, stared at his feet, then said with as much optimism as he could muster, "Yes, sure. Absolutely."

"Great." John replied smiling, seeming to buy Sherlock's facade. He started to wander around the flat, looking for the wedding tape.

"Doesn't mean we'll be able to find it though... I had a real search the other day." Sherlock said, folding his arms, and drumming his fingers nervously on his forearm.

"This one here says " _John and Mary's Wedding_ " do you think this could be it?" John teased as he picked up the tape lying on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock's heart raced as John walked over to the TV, millions of excuses rushed into his head, but sheer panic had locked his jaw tight. "John wait, I've probably taped over it, detective shows, you know." Sherlock rambled desperately, pushing his hand nervously through his dark, tangled locks. John ignored him, pushed the tape in, sat down, and switched it on. The screen lit up with John's beaming face, waiting by the alter. _Say Something- A Great Big World_ played in the background.

"Oh Sherlock, this is perfect. Well done you." John murmured, grinning at the TV. Moments passed and the camera still focused on John. "I scrub up pretty well, don't I?" He laughed absentmindedly. Sherlock wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole, knowing full well what was to come. All he could do was watch.

As the tape went on John's face flickered from happy to slightly confused. John knew Mary was standing next to him by now, yet the camera was still locked onto him. "You've stayed rather close haven't you?" He laughed.

Sherlock just stared down helplessly at John, waiting for the bomb to hit. As the minutes ticked by, the realization gradually dawned on John. His smile fell as he stared in complete shock at the screen. At the ceremony it was John, at the reception, John, all John. He turned round to see Sherlock transfixed by the tape. His eyes pooled with tears, arms crossed as his thumb anxiously tapped his lower lip. When it finally finished, John leaned back in his chair, lost for words.

"It's all of me." He managed to whisper.

"Yeah. Yes." Sherlock rasped, the pain clear in his voice.

"Bu -" John stammered. "But...since the wedding, you haven't even spoken to me. You don't even like me."

Sherlock took a sharp breath, blinked the tears out of his eyes and straightened himself up. "I hope it's useful..." He croaked, refusing to look at John. "Don't go showing it around too much..." He waved his hand loosely at the TV. "Needs...editing."

John was still lost in the blank screen. His mouth opening and closing, struggling to remember how to speak.

"I've got to get to a case...murder or something." Sherlock said, clearing his throat. He grabbed his coat, and made his way to the door. He hesitated, throwing one last glance at John. "You can just...show yourself out" he murmured before racing down the steps and out of the flat.

The pain in Sherlock's chest was blinding him as he made it outside. He stopped and tried to slow his breathing down, taking in huge gasps of air, as he shook from holding back his sobs. He looked back at the door, longing to run back upstairs to John. He walked up to the door, then turned away, then back to the door again before finally shaking his head, and walking around the corner. He turned his coat collar up, as if in some way it could protect him from the excruciating pain that threatened to suffocate him.

As he turned down an alleyway it got too much, he snapped, punching the concrete wall beside him, swearing as he kicked over bins, before finally sinking to the floor in a heap. He stayed there for what seemed like hours. Just shaking and crying. One minute shouting how he hated John, wishing he'd never met him, the next begging to some deity he didn't believe in to make John feel as he did. By the time he managed to pull himself together and head back to the flat, John was long gone. Sherlock made his way over to the chair where John had sat, carefully sat down and hugged his knees to his chest. Then he quietly switched on the TV, where he watched John's smiling face over and over again until sleep finally came.

It was Christmas Eve. John and Mary were snuggled together on their sofa, watching TV. Her head rested gently on his shoulder, as she chatted absentmindedly about work and Christmas. John wasn't listening, his mind was elsewhere, as it had been these last few weeks. Realizing he was in his own little world, Mary sat up and eyed him suspiciously.

"John is everything oka-" She started, but was cut off by a knock at the door.

"I'll get it." John said hastily, eager to get up and clear his head. He hurried down the stairs, opened the door, and standing there was Sherlock Holmes. In one hand he held an old stereo, in the other he had a bunch of cards tucked under his arm.

"Oh." John said quietly, his voice heavy. "Hi."

"Who is it, John?" Mary's voice called from upstairs.

Sherlock held his finger to his lips, mouthed a silent shh, then held up one of the cards that read-

_Say it's carol singers._

"It's carol singers." John called back, puzzled.

Sherlock then laid the stereo by his feet, flicked one of the buttons and "Silent Night" began to play. John, although completely bewildered, couldn't resist smiling as Sherlock held up another card.

_By any luck, next year I'll be going out with one of these guys._

Sherlock then swapped to another card, magazine cut outs of male models had been glued onto it. John couldn't hold back the quiet laugh that escaped his lips. Sherlock smiled at him before holding up another one.

_But for now let me say, without hope or agenda_

_Just because it's Christmas-_

_(And at Christmas you tell the truth)_

Sherlock hesitated before swapping to the next card, giving John a nervous smile.

_To me, you are perfect._

John's teary eyes met Sherlock's.

_And my wasted heart will love you_

_Until you look like this_

The next card had a photograph of a corpse, John recognized it from one of the cases they solved together. He laughed and shook his head, smiling at Sherlock through his tears.

_Merry Christmas._

"Merry Christmas." John whispered back.

Sherlock nodded, gave a satisfied smile and turned away. As he walked down the street he heard someone running up behind him, he stopped and turned to see John standing in front of him. John reached up, gently held Sherlock's face in his hands, and kissed his lips softly. As he pulled away he lightly rested his forehead against Sherlock's, giving him a knowing look. It said all the words and apologies John could never say. Sherlock just smiled. He understood. He watched as John ran back inside to Mary, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away.

As he made his way home, the pain in his heart was still there, but he had closure. He gave a small, resigned smile before sighing, "Enough. Enough now."


End file.
